Cruciatus
by Socrates7727
Summary: Harry gets hit with the Cruciatus curse in the middle of the Great Hall, and no one knows how to react or help. Except a certain blond-haired Slytherin... Eventual HPDM/drarry and angsty start with a comfort-y finish, planned two-shot currently. Rated M for torture.


AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angsty plot bunny but h/c more so and I'm planning for a two-shot right now.

* * *

"_Crucio!_" Somebody screamed the curse, and Draco knew the voice but he couldn't stop long enough to think on it because someone had just been hit with the cruciatus curse. It was Potter. Everyone in the Great Hall just stood there, stunned. Even as Harry started to fall, engulfed by a fit of screams, they all just stood there. Draco couldn't do it—instinct kicked in, and before he even realized that he'd stood up he was on the floor, catching the Golden Boy.

"Let him go!" He heard Hermione, but he couldn't tell who she was yelling at. No doubt they all thought he was just going to hurt their precious Savior more… Now wasn't the time, though. Draco took a deep breath and held Harry's head, turning him onto his side and holding him still as best he could while his body arched and contorted. It was like a seizure, just like a seizure… Hold the head, keep the airways open, and breathe—wait, no, it was Harry who was supposed to be breathing.

"Finite!" Finally, the curse was lifted. Draco didn't stop to look at who had done it, or even to look for help from a professor, he just tried to breathe as Harry's movements subsided. Fuck if this wasn't familiar… He could feel eyes on him now, wondering what the hell he was doing and why, but Draco knew this situation better than he knew Potions and Merlin help him if he let Harry suffer more than necessary. Deep breaths. Slowly, he eased the Gryffindor up into a sitting position and pulled him between his legs, back against his own chest. Harry was beginning to come back to reality.

"Wha..?" Draco knew what was coming, though, and he cemented an arm around the dark-haired boy's waist just in time. Chosen One or not, the curse fucking hurt and Harry arched again, trying to get away from him as the aftershocks jolted through his system. It was a fair reaction, but Draco still cursed it.

"Hey, hey, I know it hurts but you have to breathe, Potter." In his arms, the boy wonder continued to struggle and thrash as if he hadn't heard a word. Shit. Draco cemented his arms tighter, ignoring the burn when Harry dug his nails into his flesh, but then he felt the hyperventilation start. Harry heaved, his entire chest rising and falling like someone was levitating it. The Slytherin didn't have to think, though, because he knew this routine and he reached up, cupping Harry's forehead with his palm, before pulling the boy's head back against his shoulder.

"Hey, Potter, just breathe," He got nothing, though, so Draco grit his teeth and tried again. "Harry! Harry, listen to me I know that you really don't want to but you have to breathe. Trust me, if you let yourself suffocate until you pass out, it will be a hundred times times worse when you wake up. Breathe with me Pott- dammit, Harry!" It was miniscule but Draco felt the change almost instantly. Maybe it was the first name, or maybe it was the fact that Draco had promised it would only get worse if he kept it up, but Harry began to breathe with him. Harry relaxed his neck a bit, letting his head fall back against Draco's shoulder, and Draco could tell that his airway had opened a bit more. Their chests rose and fell together in a slow, exaggerated rhythm.

"Good, you're doing so well. Keep breathing, no matter what, okay? Now, you're not gonna like this and you're gonna hate me but I swear on Salazar Slytherin himself that I'm not lying. You have to move your fingers, can you do that?" Harry shook his head, but Draco was already moving. He knew Harry wouldn't do it—it was his first time, for fuck's sake—but he was fairly certain that the boy's head would stay securely on his shoulder so he slid his hand down. All at once, he grabbed one of the darker hands in his own.

Harry screamed, making half the student body inch closer, but Draco knew the bodyguards wouldn't help right now. He intertwined their fingers as quickly as possible. It hurt—he knew that it hurt, and he hated himself for making the boy scream again when that sound felt like a knife in his chest—but they had to do this.

"Come on, that's it. Slow, easy fists. You can make a fist, can't you?" The screaming wouldn't stop, no matter how gently he moved the boy's hand, and Draco wanted to throw up. He just wanted that damn sound to _stop_. But, as he watched, Harry slowly began to move his hand in sync with the Slytherin's, and then both hands. Thank Merlin.

"Good, you're doing good, P-Harry. That's it, get that circulation back and the pain will start to ease I promise. Now, you like your toes, don't you?" Harry shrugged. "You prefer to keep them on your body?" Another shrug, but Draco wasn't expecting any kind of verbal answer. If anyone knew what it felt like to sit there on the floor, pulsing and twitching with little shocks of pain, it was him. He knew that, in that state, Harry wouldn't care if he lost all his toes.

"Well, I like your toes attached to your feet so you're gonna make fists with your toes, okay? Just like we did with the hands. I know it sucks but I promise you that this is important if you ever want to walk again—and yes, I know that right now you're totally fine with never moving again in your life, but you won't be. Not once it fades. Come on, if _I _can do this then you should be able to no problem, right Potter?" He earned a little snort at that. For some reason, that sound was like honey in his veins and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. They counted, and Harry screamed again—over and over again every time he moved, until Draco felt like he was drowning in the sound of it—but they kept going.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Pomfrey had arrived, as had McGonagall, but both women stood still the moment they broke through the crowd and saw. Harry probably looked like death. The Gryffindor's face was red and pale in all the wrong places, his limbs were trembling like just existing was a weight too heavy to bear, and he was crying—screaming intermittently.

But Draco was right there on the floor with him. He held the boy's head back against his shoulder again because he knew the position would make it easier to relax. Easier, but not _easy_. They were enemies, but Draco still found himself smoothing a dark mess of hair and helping to loosen a red and gold tie. Gold for the golden boy, how fitting. And yet, Draco knew that the last thing that could possibly help right now was a tight loop of fabric around Harry's throat.

"Mal—" Harry's voice cut out, trapped somewhere between a gasp for air and a sob, but Draco heard it. He shushed him and placed his hand back on the darker's forehead.

"Shhh it's okay, just breathe. It only gets easier from here, I promise, and with a bit of luck you'll get to keep all your fingers and toes. You're okay, Harry, you're gonna be okay now. Ignore that tingly feeling in your stomach. You won't throw up, don't worry, and it'll fade within the next few minutes so just take a deep breath, okay?" The entire Great Hall was staring, now. Draco felt their eyes burning into his skin with a thousand questions he should have never let exist, let alone be asked. It didn't matter, though, because he forced himself to focus on Harry.

"Do you have the mint?" Pomfrey jumped, and then bustled closer but Harry quickly forced her back with another round of screams. If anyone knew how important it was to keep his heart rate down, it was the medi-witch, and she thankfully backed off and tossed the pouch of mint leaves towards them. Thank Merlin.

"Harry, I know you just want to sleep but you have to chew this, okay?" The Gryffindor's mouth fell open, eyes closed, and Draco tried not to focus on how fucking _trusting_ that gesture was. He placed one mint leaf on Harry's tongue. It was half Harry, half Draco that powered the motion of his jaw to chew but it was enough. Draco felt the body in his arms relax a bit as the mint began to soothe the aftershocks of the pain, and he went back to smoothing the bird's nest that Harry called hair. Slow, easy breaths.

Most of the Great Hall had been evacuated aside from the few first years who had fainted and the eighth years who had stayed behind to watch. He felt the eyes of Ron and Hermione like daggers in his skin. Harry was almost asleep, though, and if he focused he could feel the Gryffindor's heartbeat against his skin. Merlin that affected him way more than it should have. Now wasn't the time, though, so he merely continued to smooth Harry's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes and hold his waist. When he was sure that Harry was asleep, he nodded to Pomfrey that it was safe.

Thankfully, she didn't ask him how he knew what to do. She didn't say a word to him the entire way to the hospital wing, and she didn't comment on the way he kept one hand on Harry's arm at all times. He couldn't make himself let go, no matter how hard he tried, but she didn't make him. Instead, she let him accompany them into the hospital wing and to one of the farthest beds, where she let him watch as she treated the Gryffindor. Believe it or not, even with Draco's vast personal experience, he'd never seen the damage from a Cruciatus curse healed properly. He didn't know half the spells or potions that she used.

"Mr. Malfoy, can I persuade you to take this?" Pomfrey held up a potion, and Draco was immediately suspicious, already backing away, but she continued. "It's lavender, pineapple, and tea tree extracts with murtlap essence. It helps heal old scar tissue and damaged nerve endings, even years after the trauma occurs, and I've heard it eases the phantom pain."

He stared at her. Pomfrey, as a person, was a quiet sort of intimidating but Draco felt none of that pressure from her now. For a minute, he considered being a smartass and demanding to know why she thought he needed that, but the answer was pretty clear and he didn't want to emphasize that thought in anyone's mind. Wordlessly, he took the potion and downed it.

"Thank you." She nodded, continuing to bustle over Harry.

"I'm a medi-witch, it's my job to supply patients with what they need." Draco swallowed hard and willed his eyes to focus on anything but the woman's face.

"I didn't mean for the potion." That got a moment of silence, but then Pomfrey was back to bustling as if he'd never said a word. He sat and watched until she plopped down in the seat beside him.

"I need to observe Mr. Potter to make sure that additional potions are not necessary." Draco nodded, but that felt like a lie. He'd never known Pomfrey to be dishonest but he could imagine that she had her ways. Undoubtedly, she was curious about him. But, for over ten minutes, she merely sat and observed Harry on the bed without so much as a glance in his direction. It couldn't last, though.

"May I ask?" He looked up, but the medi-witch was still looking at Harry.

"Ask what?" Draco knew what was coming—anyone with half a brain knew what was coming—but he had to make her say it because he had to be sure.

"Who cast it on you." Pomfrey was dead serious, now. It felt like he was speaking to some long lost grandmother figure, which was very unsettling because he'd never known his grandparents. She was quiet, though, and completely calm as she looked at Harry so Draco took a deep breath.

"Which time?" That was enough, it seemed. Pomfrey sucked in a sharp breath, stared at him for a moment, and then excused herself to her office. Draco felt bad for putting that kind of sadness in the woman's face, but he was not going to name names and he hadn't lied so it was a win-win situation in his book. At least in theory… Harry wouldn't wake up for hours—he knew from experience—so he settled onto the closest cot and let his eyes close.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please please please review! It means the world to me!


End file.
